Don't Ask Don't Tell
by inktrap
Summary: Months after their departure in the airport, a person Aya hadn't expected to see ever again had given him his unwanted loyalty. Ken had smiled at him, and Aya knew the loss of the people he held dear wasn't a zero sum game. Sena and Kyo were dead. Youji and Omi, forgotten. But the feelings Aya held for them would be with him forever, and so was Ken. (Set during Side B)


My mojo is back.

Ken explores kink and tries not to think he's going insane, Aya doesn't know if he's helping or actually making things worse, and Chloe gets those two idiots to talk about their feelings.

Main TW for ableist slurs, courtesy of one Ken Hidaka. Characters' opinions do not reflect those of the management.

Somewhat based in my own headcanon from ages ago: post/74883072428/someone-help-me-im-overcome-by-weiss-feels

Also, crossposted to AO3.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Ken I<strong>

If anybody noticed the rope burns on Ken's wrists, they didn't mention it.

Ken woke up to the light filtered by the window screen. It seeped through the cracks in the blinds, cool like October, the morning chill forcing a groan and a stretch out of him before he'd the courage to jump out of the bed.

The alarm clock sat by his side untouched. The dawn bled lazily by; a morning he'd have liked to spend in bed, tucked in and warm. 6 AM was already half an hour old. Yuki should've been gone to sleep already, their awkward confrontation in the hallways avoided. The kid would always nod at him, a bland look on his face as Ken would tell him not to go to sleep so late next time. "Aah," The kid was growing too much like Aya. "Next time."

As far as they were concerned, next time never came. They were just another one of his now forgotten habits, the early mornings, although by any means 6 and a half AM wasn't late, and everyone else was still closed off in their own rooms - or at least in some other room, halfway across the city, in Chloe's case. Not that it was any of his business. As long as Chloe wasn't there asking about him and the way his wrists were chaffed and red and raw, well, it was for the best, anyway. Chloe was a lot like someone he used to know. If Chloe ever saw them - and Ken wasn't going out of his way for someone not to, they all be damned - he would ask. Because he was a nosy piece of shit who liked getting Ken uncomfortable.

So yeah.

Not that it was a strange thing to begin with. _Work hazard_. The words slipped into his mind and he stifled a laugh, finally pushing himself out of his covers and into his slippers. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, still laughing in his head. His mouth tasted stale. In the mirror, the purple bruising made a stark contrast against the pale skin. He'd have to start tanning real soon if he didn't want Aya to think he was going sick.

It was hard being an assassin without it bitting you back in the ass later. Most of them had marks to show for it. Aya got that scar on his back. He never told Ken what it was from, but fair thing, Ken never told him about the burnt marks, either, though it was in his file, if Aya ever bothered looking for it - but he guess he didn't. Respecting his privacy and all that. Ken didn't know if he was supposed to feel grateful for it. In any case, Aya's scar healed between his shoulder blades, a clean sharp wound, cut nicely and patched up even better. A sword bite, most likely. Anyone could tell it was a sword bite.

Work hazard his own wasn't. Ken examined his wrists. Living with a bunch of assassins had its perks. There was a first aid kit under the sink. The thread and needle were where he'd forgotten them, discarded over a pile of bloodied bandages he'd forgotten to throw on the trash. There were also balms, lotions - a cream to rub on purple marks to make them better. If Ken wanted to heal - if he wanted to - the burns would've already faded to a soft yellow.

Ken sort of liked them the way they were. And he lived in a place full of men who'd see it and _know_.

So Ken was in a conundrum, alright, which meant he got up half an hour later than he wanted to and spent too long in the restroom checking up his hair, and his teeth, and an infinitely long list of things he didn't give a shit about. It meant his stomach was already growling by seven, complaining about all the rice and the nori he wasn't going to eat because he was stuck in England.

Ken longed for miso soup. It wasn't even a normal longing, like missing his homeland. He missed miso soup like he'd missed Aya - which was a pretty good damn compliment on Aya, if he'd any.

He made his way down the stairs softly. The western furniture was strange, and he'd to feel his way down the first floor as if he hadn't been trained to navigate unknown rooms. It was strange to imagine this large place, this gaudy mansion as... Home. The sparse rooms above the flower shop weren't home either, nor was the trailer. But there'd been a familiarity - like the young chatter of Japanese women and the cheery songs blasting on the television. The cool, regulated breeze from the AC in the closest department store. He'd never really paid attention to them until he lost it. There was a lesson to be learnt somewhere but Ken didn't know which one. He just missed being able to eat tofu in the morning.

It was a goddamn waste of a good kitchen, if he'd ever seen one. Ken propped open one of the drawers and fished out a sad package of instant miso. They were thinning out, but Ken didn't feel like running to the closest Asian product store nearby, which happened to be more than an hour away. Even the instant stuff was better than an English breakfast, at least until he'd gotten his hands on the real thing again. Ken watched the water boil and tried not to think of how much long it was going to take.

"Aren't you cold?"

Ken didn't bother turning back. Aya thought he was quiet, and he was. But he'd that particular brand of silence you could _not_ hear a mile coming, if you knew how. Aya muffled his steps without wanting to, but Ken swore he could hear his heartbeats.

Ken shrugged. It was Aya's way of asking why he wasn't wearing long sleeves.

"Good morning to you too," he replied back in Japanese. There wasn't anybody up, so he didn't see why Aya bothered speaking English to begin with. Ken plucked the kettle off the stove and turned off the fire, pouring the water on the sandy grains that condensed into soup. Aya joined him. Their arms brushed as Aya borrowed the kettle, enough water for the two of them.

"Want me to make one for you?"

"I'll appreciate your culinary skills some other morning."

Aya was smiling a lot more these days. Ken laughed, and then twisted his nose away when he figured out what Aya was getting the water for.

"Black tea? Going native, I see."

Aya's turn to shrug. He appeared to be in a fairly good humor for someone who used to be so serious. Weiss changed him, but America and England, they had changed him more. Ken felt somewhat jealous, although, if he'd to be honest, he'd changed too, and Aya wasn't entirely responsible.

They ate in silence until it became unbearable. Ken was sure Aya wouldn't mind, with his tea and the scones, and the berry jam that Ken never thought someone like him was going to enjoy anyway. Aya didn't like sweets. Yet Ken ate his watery soup that tasted like sandpaper and couldn't keep quiet, couldn't keep himself from leaning towards Aya and feeling the warmth of his body. Aya was right. He was cold. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse to go around sleeveless for at least once during the day.

"I didn't expect anyone to be up, you know?"

Aya stirred his tea.

"It's almost eight."

"Already?" His eyes shot towards the clock hanging above the fridge, where their work schedule hung pinned by cute cat-shaped magnets. Half past seven wasn't really eight, he thought stubbornly, but he could see why Aya was concerned. Michael had written his and Free's names in colored marker, right down at the first shift. Ken came up later, at one o'clock, after they were supposed to go out for lunch. Still. The store opened at nine.

"Shit." He muted his curse downing his soup in one gulp. It must've been damn hilarious because even Aya sketched a reaction to it, pressing his lips together as if he didn't want Ken to know he'd the capacity not to find things so serious all the time. Even Ken knew they weren't supposed to laugh about it. He rubbed his wrists, feeling self conscious.

"I don't do this all the time."

Aya cocked one eyebrow up. Ken didn't want to explain himself to Aya, but he guessed he owed it to him, having started things in the first place.

"I mean," he tried to be rational. "It's just mornings. Nobody wakes up as early as I do. And- and you know the flower shop gives me a reason to wear gloves all the time."

He'd given thought to it. Like, he was embarrassed about how much thought. But Aya eyed him as if he'd been proud, and not completely freaked out that Ken had spent a lot of time fantasizing about getting tied up, so there was that.

It wasn't as if he was trying too hard or anything. Ken stared intently at his miso. The paste had fallen down entirely, turning the water into a muddy brown with a few chunks of fake-tofu floating on the top. It's just that he didn't have any reasons to hang out with his wrists showing. He always wore long sleeved tracksuits to run and train, regardless of the weather, and it wasn't hard work to convince everyone else he would be delighted to take the job of sorting their inventory. It just meant he got stuck moving piles of fertilizer and pots of plants all day long. Nobody else actually wanted to do that, and the gloves were sort of mandatory. Plus, it left the job of making floral arrangements to those with the delicate fingers, like Michael and Aya.

Aya was pretty good with his hands.

Ken had tried to be more like him, but his fingers were too rough and stubby for dealing with flowers. (Or knots). The swordplay calloused Aya's hands, when he'd have soft skin otherwise, like a girl's. Ken sort of liked them the way they were, though.

Ken fought not to fidget once he was done. He ought to sit next to Aya out of politeness, but Aya gave him his silent permission to go on and he dumped his bowl and leftovers under a spray of cold water. He wasn't... Outright avoiding Aya. And if he was - which he wasn't - Aya wasn't going to call him out on it, because that was Aya's way of doing things, wasn't it? He was patient. He'd been edged on by someone else every time he went looking for Ken (and that wasn't the issue, was it, Ken just thought he could use a lot more initiative), but usually, he just waited until Ken gave himself away. It was bad. Ken knew his own tells, but he couldn't stop himself. His leg would move on its own accord, he'd bounce on the floor, his fingers twitched. He just wasn't born to stand still like Aya, quiet and closed off on his own corner until someone dared to shift the natural balance of things.

Which was weird, considering their situation. But whatever. He could feel Aya frowning from the other side of the kitchen as he pretended there was nothing they should be talking about. There was _not_, he forced himself to think and relax under the insistent pressure of Aya's gaze, because Aya picked up on the smallest trace of discomfort. Like a shark.

Ken snorted, imagining just what Chloe would have to say to that, and Aya moved his eyes towards him, bearing into his skull. Ken rubbed his nape absentmindedly. The water trickled in droplets down his shirt, making him shudder and close the tap off, and just move away from Aya, from the question in his stare - which Ken felt was entirely justified - and the guilt for ignoring him, burning low in the bottom of his stomach. Aya always knew when there was something wrong. Which was why it worked in the first place - it just wouldn't be the same if he didn't trust Aya to read how elusive he managed to be at times. Chloe said he was an open book; Aya knew better. And - and it wouldn't work, either, if Aya didn't trust him to speak when he felt he needed to, but Ken just didn't want, not yet. Not nearing eight AM in the morning, when he could hear the soft rustling from upstairs, meaning someone was up and about, and readying themselves for the beginning of the day.

"Aya." He startled himself. Aya, as always, didn't look fazed by it. He twisted on his back and leaned on the chair, one arm propped on top of the backrest, curious, the shadows playing on his face to make his brow a little more furred than it had to be just because Ken finally talked. His eyes were the wrong shade of purple. Too dark.

Ken flushed, and moved his eyes back to the sink. He cleaned the bowl a little more carefully than he would in any given day, eyes fixed on it.

"Do you have, hm, are you doing anything tonight? A mission, I mean."

Aya waited a couple of seconds.

"Hmn." _No._

"And- no other plans, right? At least not late."

"Do you want me to-"

"Yeah," Ken rushed in. He didn't like it when Aya spelled things out loud. He should to, he guessed it was for the best, but not out there, in the open, where anyone could hear it. Ken strained his ears. Somewhere down the pipes the water was running, either Michael or Free running a quick shower before their morning routines. Good. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Alright. Are you-" the question hung in the air. Aya didn't have to start it for Ken to realize the tension that fell between them, his shoulders strained and muscles tightened. Like before a battle - only there wasn't that good side of the anticipation, the thrill kicked in by all the adrenalin rushing through his body. Ken poised himself too straight, and Aya noticed and decided to go with it, because why the hell not? He'd already started anyway. Talking about what Ken didn't want to talk about. "Are you in trouble?"

"No."

"Okay."

He dropped the subject. Aya got back to his stupid tea and the sweet Ken couldn't enunciate. As if he'd trusted him to be honest about it in the first place, and hadn't been expecting any other answer. Ken didn't know why it got him pissed off, but it did. He gripped the towel between his fists and strained it until the urge to hit Aya in the head faded, the rage ebbing in waves. There was no reason to be angry at Aya for trusting him, the idiot. He hadn't even lied about it. Well. It was a given none of them ever felt fine, but Ken wasn't half as troubled as he'd been that night, after he'd washed Jonathan O'Brien's blood off of his hands until he couldn't feel their warmth anymore. Back then, Ken'd wanted to smash something. Now he just wished things to stop being so awkward, even though he was sure half of it was in his own damn mind. Aya behaved the same as ever. No judgement, no demands for explanations Ken couldn't give, nothing but acceptance, so maybe Ken was the one who couldn't accept that Aya just went through with it. As if it was a normal thing, as if Ken wasn't slipping out of his mind again, searching for control the only way he could deal with it - because _that stuff_? Like- enjoying getting tied up? Almost_getting off_ on it? That was for crazy people. Aya obviously didn't feel the same way he did. He just got along with it. Not like he'd anything better to do on his checklist than murdering people and tying someone up during his free time, right? Ken would ask someday. He bet Aya would say "Ken, it's just the way things are". That seemed to be Aya's response to everything. Very zen buddhist of him.

Ken dropped the towel back in place.

"See ya later, then."

Aya nodded.

"Same hour?"

_Crazy people._

"Yeah."

Aya made it sound like an appointment for the doctor or something, which as far as Ken knew, it couldn't have been closer to the truth. Before he realized it, he'd be getting taken by men in white and placed in a loony bin, tied up in a straitjacket and hanging from the ceiling like that lunatic that got on his case. If they ever bothered, frankly, Ken just wished they'd kill him and be done with it. Probably not, though. Omi- Mamoru, his memory quickly provided the correction - found an use for Schwarz. If he'd been capable of collaring a telekinetic, he'd find a way to use Ken, too. It was pathetic, considering the pull Schwarz had had on them. Mamoru said "Jump", Mayfly said "How high?". Ken just hoped he'd last a little longer.

This arrangement didn't look half as bad in comparison. _Yeah, still crazy._ He wasn't blood thirsty, though, nor Persia's personal lapdog.

Ken looked back to the kitchen on his way out and, for a fleeting second, when the clock chimed eight in the morning, and he could hear Michael flying down the stairs, Ken thought - "Well, that might just work."

Aya smiled at him and he got sure of it.


End file.
